


angel of small death

by orphan_account



Series: and they were squadmates (oh my god they were squadmates) [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Hero Worship, Kinda, Other, Pre-Relationship, lore: says elliott was a bartender, me: meet-ugly! meet-ugly!, my interpretation of what bloodhound looks like snzz, set before elliott is introduced to the apex games, unreliable accents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Keep it cool, Witt. First Impressions and all that junk.





	1. meet-ugly

**Author's Note:**

> bloodhound said top rights  
> edit fuck the title is from hozier's angel of small death and the codeine scene pls listen to that song

“Your decoys… are very convincing.” 

Elliott turns, sending a sly smile to the patron addressing him. “I should hope so,” he says, wiping down the rim of a glass, “they’re my little money-makers. Can I get you anything?”

The patron - feminine looking, with long black hair and a narrow face, one blue eye missing and a large, spider-webbing scar across one cheek - looks at the shelves of bottles behind him and sighs. “A water,” they say, turning back to stare at the holograms running around the bar. 

A bout of excited muttering and cheers explode from the far end of the bar. Elliott casts a fond smile to the sizeable group surrounding a dated T.V. “I get the same group every week,” he tells the patron, sliding their glass of water over. “Bunch’a guys get together, get wasted, and watch old Apex re-runs until someone throws up. Or start fighting, but the last time that happened was when Caustic and Bloodhound were the only two remaining. Now _that_ was a fight.” 

The patron casts a glance to the group, an unreadable look in their eye. “It was.”

Elliott side-eyes the patron, calling over a decoy to take his place. Elliott wasn't really one to judge, but something about them was... weird. The scars weren’t grisly enough to make them stand out, but the accent was one he hadn’t heard before. At least, he didn't _think_ he had… 

“You aren’t a Legend, are you?” Elliott whispered, sidling around the bar to sit in the stool next to them. “Not many people can call my holos out as fast as you did. And your scar - really cool, by the way - and _holy shit is that a bird_ -”

The patron fidgeted, an uncomfortable look in their eye - an eye so pale blue it looked like glass under the low lights. “I didn't see a no animal sign at the door,” they said. From their lap, a black bird sat preening, the glass of water half-empty. 

_Black bird_ , thought Elliott, _strange accent, good eye_. Excitement gripped him. His little bar was home to Apex enthusiasts and wanna-bes, but he had never seen an actual Legend come in before, not since management switched. But here they were - and Elliott had to be right, this was his icon for fuck’s sake - _Bloodhound was in his bar_. 

Keep it cool, Witt. First Impressions and all that junk. 

“Hey, Witt!” Another patron cried. “Angela’s blowing chunks again!” 

_Fuck._

Elliott’s words died in his throat - his really cool first impression, extra-smooth, honestly - and his mouth twisted up into a disgusted smile. “Again, Angie?” He called to the broad-shouldered woman. Her wife was gently helping her up, sending Elliott little sorry looks as he walked behind the bar. “I’ll grab the mop. The rest’a you, clear out! Biohazard coming through.” 

Elliott caught the patron’s eye - Bloodhound, he thought wistfully, _Bloodhound_ \- and backed into his room behind the bar with a wink. “Win the next one for me, yeah?”


	2. mother knows best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's okay to want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: edited  
> dark apex lore show me mama witt!

Fear is the sound of footfalls at dark. Fear is the faint shift of air on the back of a neck. Fear is the gnashing of teeth and the calling of crows.

Fear is the eye of Bloth Hoondr falling onto unsuspecting prey. 

They aim down the sight of their gun, easing their breaths even. A group of Legends sit, huddled together underneath a canopy of bones that dots the border of Skull Town. One clean shot to the largest would send the other two scrambling for the cover of a building or sand dune, at which point Wraith would take them out at close range. Another Game won. Another year in hiding. 

_Win the next one for me, yeah?_

Bloth shakes their head free of distractions. They would have time enough to think about quick-witted bartenders later. 

_Bang._

 

Word travels fast around the Outback, especially among the circles Elliott runs in. Bloodhound has won another Apex Game. It makes Elliott feel giddy, body charged with electricity as he scans every face that walks into the bar. He gets the rerun as fast as possible and takes a rare night off, ranting and raving to his mother over call. 

It’s silly, a part of him thinks. Bloodhound was just so good at the whole shooty-gun business. They would’ve won, chance encounter or not. And what had they been doing in his bar, anyway? Bloodhound never resurfaced unless it was to play in the Games or to do the odd crusade against the IMC. Why had they let themself be seen? 

Elliott couldn't tell anyone. He didn't know why, per se, but he knew nobody wore a mask and disappeared for a year at a time just to participate in competitive bloodsport just for shits and giggles. 

_Well_ , maybe that creep Caustic, but he was a whole ‘nother grab-bag of crazy Elliott didn't even want to try and classify.

He couldn't tell anyone that he had seen Bloodhound’s face. It seemed like some kind of unspoken rule, and that breaking it would be at pain of death, and he wouldn't put it past the Technological Tracker to put those eyes to work. Er, eye. One eye, one scar, some freckles and light wrinkles between the brows- 

“You're really invested in this whole Apex thing,” his mother says, a knowing drawl creeping across the line. “I’m surprised you haven’t enlisted yet.” 

The word _enlisted_ puts a sour taste in both their mouths, as sharp as IMC regulated gun powder. “And leave you alone to worry yourself sick? Not a chance in hell, mama.” Elliott leans back on his shitty couch behind the bar. The last remaining minutes of footage play out on mute; Bloodhound and Wraith being picked up by Dropship, Wraith addressing the camera, King’s Canyon fading into the distance. 

“I worry no matter what, Elli. It’s my job.”

_“Mhm.”_

“You know what I'm worried about right now?” He can hear the clatter of metal on metal and wonders what little trinket she’s working on. Probably something evil. “I’m worried that you're too scared to live your life because of me.” 

“That’s ridiculous, mom,” he says. “I'm perfectly fine right where I am.” In a shitty bar with vomit-stained floorboards and a coat closet for a room. At least the A/C worked. 

She sighed. “You're a smart boy, Elli, and you sure as hell didn't get that from your dad. I'm tired of you acting like everything is peachy all the damn time; it’s okay to want something.” 

Elliott stared at the screen across from him. A freeze frame of Bloodhound, poised to strike, gun in hand. The Apex banner flew behind them in stark Crimson. _It’s okay to want._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my Twitter @skduggs_online 
> 
> Also I love you

**Author's Note:**

> finally some good fucking nb representation


End file.
